Cold Comfort
by Halcris
Summary: Doyle comes back from injury leave, fit and ready for work, only to find that his partner, Bodie, seems to have disappeared without trace. What has happened ?


**Cold Comfort. **

Ray Doyle whistled gently as he parked his car neatly in the yard at C.I.5 Headquarters, and moved towards the building's entrance.

He was feeling particularly good this Monday morning. On his last assignment he had pulled a muscle rather badly, rendering him almost unable to walk, so he had had a spell down at a training camp, where experts had prescribed a strict routine of rest, massage, and gentle exercise that had worked wonders for him.

It was early March, and a lot of the country further north was in the grip of an extremely hard wintry spell, but where he had been had not been so bad, with even a few early signs of Spring to cheer everyone up.

So he felt good, and was looking forward to hearing what had been happening while he was away, and especially to finding out what his partner, Bodie, had been up to.

"Nice to see you back, Doyle," said the man on the door, as he admitted him.

"Thanks," replied Doyle, "Nice to be back."

But as he bounded up the stairs, he was unaware of the concerned look that followed him. He met no-one on the stairs, but found Murphy in the rest room.

"Are you fully fit again ?," asked his friend.

"Yes, I'm fine," said Doyle. "Do you know where Bodie is ?."

"No, I don't," replied Murphy. "I've been over at the Computer Centre for the last couple of days, so I haven't had the chance to see him."

"Any idea what he's working on ?," asked Doyle.

"You'll have to ask the boss about that," was Murphy's response.

Doyle suddenly had the feeling that Murphy was being a little bit diffident and off-hand, - most unlike him.

"I'll go and see him," said Doyle, and noted that his friend seemed almost relieved to see him leave the room.

He tapped on Cowley's door and waited to be called in. As he entered Cowley was just dealing with a phone-call, and waved him to a seat. He had an abstracted look about him, and Doyle felt suddenly uneasy.

Cowley put the receiver down, and gave Doyle an odd look, before posing a question. "Has Bodie contacted you ?," he asked.

"No," replied Doyle, a bit surprised. "Should he have done ?."

"No," said Cowley. "I just wondered - - - -" He paused for a moment, and then made a decision. "Fact is, Doyle," he said, "I haven't heard from him for two days."

"That's not like him," said Doyle, picking up the concern in his boss's voice. "What's he working on ?."

"That's just it," said Cowley. "He was only making first enquiries about some new information that has come our way recently. About the Mortinellis."

"Ralph and Benjy are still about," said Doyle, "but I understood that their father had gone back to Milan."

"Yes, that's confirmed," replied Cowley. "He's gone back home on grounds of ill-health."

Both the police and C.I.5 had had their eye on Pietro Mortinelli for a long time. They knew he was a very powerful drug baron, but had never been able to get the necessary proof to nail him, as he was so clever at covering his tracks. Doyle had had several encounters with his twin sons, Ralph and Benjy.

( See 'Not Guilty' and 'Nightmares'.)

"I've had word from the Italian police," went on Cowley, "Pietro has been replaced by one of his brothers. It's a very large family. And from their account, Arturo Mortinelli is a far worse problem than his brother. In Italy he was involved with a lot more crime, and especially with dealing in arms for terrorists. We don't know as yet what he's involved in here. He's only been in this country for a month."

"And Bodie was making enquiries about that, I suppose," said Doyle, "To see if he was starting anything up."

"That's about it," agreed Cowley.

"In that case," mused Doyle, "I'd better follow his trail, and try and guess who he would talk to."

His first attempt was Bodie's friend Martell. He wasn't the easiest person to contact, but he managed it eventually, and met the man in his favourite place, on the Greenwich ferry.

"Doyle," Martell greeted him.

"I'm looking for Bodie," began Doyle. "Has he contacted you ?."

"Yes," confirmed Bodie's friend. "A couple of days ago. But if you are asking the same question, I can't help you either."

"Arturo Mortinelli ?," queried Doyle.

"Yes," confirmed Martell. "I've heard of him, of course, mainly that he's a nasty piece of work. But that was in Italy. So far, I've not had any word about anything in this country."

"Thanks, anyway," said Doyle. "You wouldn't have any idea who Bodie was going to contact next, would you ?."

"No," said Martell, "But if I hear anything, I'll let you know."

At the end of the day, Doyle reported to Cowley, and both were disappointed at the lack of result.

"I've spoken to a dozen people," said Doyle wearily. "Nearly all of them have seen Bodie in the last day or two, but they haven't been able to give him any leads. Most of them had heard of Arturo Mortinelli, but knew nothing about his activities."

He ran tired fingers through his dark curls, a gesture indicating to his boss how worried he was becoming about his partner. "I've thought of a few more people to ask," he said, "I'll try again tomorrow."

"Get some rest now," ordered Cowley. "If there's any news I'll let you know."

Doyle started to leave, then turned back. "What about his car ?," he asked.

"There's an A.P.B out on that," replied Cowley, "But it's not been found yet."

Doyle left and went home, to force himself to rest. It was worrying that the car had not been found, and made him even more convinced that something had happened to Bodie.

He was back on the job bright and early next morning, but endured another disappointing day. It wasn't till late in the afternoon that he got something of interest.

He'd exhausted his list of villains and semi-villains that he knew, most of whom would have helped if they could, just to keep on his good side. He had no cause for suspicion that any of them were concealing anything.

So now he was talking to an old friend, Jimmy Yates. He and Bodie had done their best to help Jimmy when his nephew had got into trouble. They had saved the easily-led lad from going to prison. Now he was working on a farm in Devon, and doing well. His uncle had been very grateful for their assistance.

"Yes," said Jimmy, in answer to Doyle's question, "I did see Mr. Bodie, a few days ago. He was asking about someone called Arturo Mortinelli, but I'm afraid I'd never heard of him. He told me he was one of the Mortinelli family, and I do know what villains they are, but I couldn't help him."

"Oh, well, thanks anyway," said Doyle, and turned to leave. Then Jimmy put a restraining hand on his arm.

"But I did tell him something," said the chatty old man, "I don't know if it's important."

"What was that ?," demanded Doyle, - anything might help.

"Well," went on Jimmy, "One day last week, I was late home from work, so by the time I took the dog out for his walk it was getting quite dark."

Rather impatiently, Doyle wondered where this was going.

"I always go down along by the riverside," said Jimmy. "It's quiet down there, with all those empty old warehouses. The area used to be busy but it's 'dead' now. But I saw lights in one of the old buildings. It looked as though there were people in there with torches."

Doyle began to take more notice. This could be interesting.

"I thought it a bit odd," the old man went on, "but I walked past it next day in daylight, and there wasn't the slightest sign of life, and all the doors were still had their big padlocks."

"I didn't give it much more thought then, except maybe it was kids larking about. But Mr. Bodie did seem interested, come to think of it."

Doyle thanked the garrulous old chap and left, after ascertaining which precise building he was talking about. It could be worth a look. He was getting to a stage when he was clutching at straws !

On his way he drove slowly past the building Jimmy had indicated, but it looked just like several others around it, abandoned and deserted. But he resolved to come back after dark to check. So he went home for a rest and a meal before setting out again.

So later that evening, when it was dark, found him parking his car in a nearby street, and walking towards the building in question. Set a little back from the road, it had a yard in front of it, protected by high wooden gates. He had noticed this earlier, so had brought with him the necessary lock-picks to deal with the big padlock securing them.

Helped by the light of his torch, it only took him a few seconds to deal with the padlock, to ease the heavy doors open a little bit, and to slip into the deserted courtyard.

He stood still for a moment taking stock of his surroundings. There were no lights in the main building, and no sounds either, to indicate the presence of anyone there. Maybe the old man had been mistaken, and there was nothing going on here.

But he very quickly found out that he was wrong about that !

He cautiously swung the beam of his torch round the dark yard. It picked up something in the far corner to his left, so he moved that way. It was a parked car, and what was more, one he recognised. Bodie's car !

He hurried forward to examine it. It was empty, of course, and the bonnet was stone cold. A thin layer of dust suggested that it had stood there for days.

He pondered what to do next, but not for long.

Suddenly a spotlight fixed to the wall came on, illuminating the whole yard, and a man appeared in the doorway of the building.

A man with a gun in his hand !

Doyle's left-handed draw was pretty quick, but it was not fast enough. A shot rang out and the weapon was blasted from his hand, to skitter noisily away across the concrete yard. And almost at once, a heavy blow hit the back of his head, to send him down in a crumpled heap.

A tall dark-haired man walked over to have a look at his victim, joined by the man who had wielded the baseball bat. Then came running footsteps, and another man, alerted by the sound of the shot, dashed over to the group. It was Ralph Mortinelli, the bolder of the twins. He watched as the assailant rolled the limp form over.

"I know who that is, uncle," he exclaimed.

"Tell me then," ordered Arturo Mortinelli, as he tucked his gun away.

"It's Doyle," said Ralph. "Partner to the one the other night, Bodie."

Ralph knew Doyle of old, and bore him a serious grudge, for a mistaken encounter with the man had earned him the wrath of his autocratic father.

"He's come looking for Bodie, I expect," went on Ralph. "They're always together." An eager look came over his face.

"They should be together, uncle," he said with malicious glee. "We're going that way again in an hour. Let's dump him where we dumped the other one ! He might find him, though he's probably dead by now. Serve them both right !."

Arturo Mortinelli smiled evilly. Of his two nephews, he liked Ralph best. He thought Benjy was a bit soft, but Ralph was as hard as nails, and as ruthless as he was himself.

"Why not ?," he said. "We don't want him found round here, anyway."

He bent down, and felt through Doyle's pockets. He handed the bunch of keys he found to Ralph. "His car must be nearby," he said. "Can you find it and bring it in beside the other one.? We don't want it attracting attention."

Ralph scuttled off to do as his uncle had said. He was very glad that his uncle had taken his father's place. Life was far more exciting now, and he had high hopes of the project they were busy setting up. In an hour or so they would set out for another trip to Cardiff, where complicated negotiations were going on between his uncle and a group of specialist importers. If it all worked out it was going to be very lucrative.

Doyle woke up to find himself in total darkness. Trying to make some sense of where he was, he became aware first of an aching head and then of a sore hand. Then the feeling of movement made things clearer. He stretched out his hands to encounter metal, and realised he was in the boot of a speeding car.

Rather belatedly, he berated himself for his stupidity. He realised that he had done just what Bodie must have done, investigated something suspicious without letting base know where he was, or calling for back-up.

He had a quick feel round. His gun had gone, of course, and his radio-phone but they evidently hadn't searched him further, for he still had his lighter hidden in a back pocket of his jeans, and his trusty sharp little knife. Just recently he'd been experimenting with carrying that up his sleeve, secured by a neat stretchy sports wrist-band. Both items could well be useful, if he got the opportunity to use them.

The journey seemed to go on for ever, and was very uncomfortable. He tried listening out for traffic sounds in the hope it might give him some idea where they were going. He got the impression that they went over a long bridge, but that didn't help much.

He moved back the sleeve of his sweater, noting that it was damp. Must be blood from his hand injury, he guessed. He looked at the luminous hands of his watch, 6.15 am. It would hardly be getting light yet at this time of year.

Then quite suddenly, the car came to a halt. He heard the sound of a door opening and someone getting out. The lid of the boot was lifted. Rough hands grabbed him and yanked him out. He felt stiff and cramped, but they gave him no time to stretch to ease this.

In the dim light he recognised Ralph Mortinelli, but not the other man. The two of them set him on his feet, and then pushed him roughly to the side of the road, a final shove sending him sprawling.

He heard Ralph's voice, rich with an evil mocking tone. "Your mate's somewhere round here, Doyle," he said. "I hope you find him and you die together."

The two men got quickly back into the car, and it sped off. It had all happened so fast. Knocked off his feet, Doyle had found himself landing in something soft and wet, - a snow-drift !

He scrambled to his feet and looked about him. Nothing but fields in every direction – fields hidden under 4 or 5 inches of snow.

Ralph had said Bodie was here somewhere, but how on earth was he going to find him in this white wilderness ?.

He tried calling his mate's name at the top of his voice, but got no response. He tried to think what to do, to reason it out. If they'd dumped Bodie out of the car, as they had done him, there might be some tracks he could follow. He moved slowly along the road, looking carefully at the snow on either side.

He'd gone about ten paces when something caught his eye. There was a small dark patch on the snow. He bent down, looked more closely and touched it with his fingers. It might be dried blood, he thought worriedly. Of course, it could have been some small creature caught by a fox, but there was no debris of fur or feathers to suggest this.

As he straightened up, he noticed a kind of trail leading away across the field, a trail that might possibly be foot-prints, half obscured by fresh snow. He decided to follow it. As he hurried along, he was concerned because the marks were a little irregular, suggesting that whoever had made them wasn't too steady on his feet, and there were also more small dark patches in the snow.

And then it began to snow again. He quickened his pace for the marks would soon disappear. Seeing became difficult as the flakes fell faster and thicker. He topped a small rise, and then he saw it. Looming vaguely through the swirling snow was the dark shape of a small building. He hurried forward and found a small wooden hut, maybe set up as a temporary shelter for a shepherd tending sheep. It had no windows, - merely an open door-space.

He moved faster, reached it and stepped inside. It had evidently been quite deliberately placed with its back to the prevailing weather. So the relief from the biting wind and the swirling snow was tremendous. A few odd random gusts threw small flurries of flakes through the opening, but the interior, though dark, was at least dry.

He drew a few deep breaths to compose himself, to help him think. The snow and the bitter wind had already sapped a great deal of his strength, both physical and mental.

And then he had the oddest feeling, a sudden instinct that he wasn't alone ! Had some other creature found this refuge from the wintry conditions still raging outside ?

Quickly he fished out his little lighter and flicked it on. He moved cautiously forward with it, endeavouring to throw a little light into the darkest corner.

What he saw astounded him ! It wasn't some cowering wild creature. The flickering flame lit up the shape of a man, propped up against the far wall. And not any man ! No, it was the one he was looking for - Bodie !

He held the light higher and closer, and his heart quailed at what he saw. It was Bodie, but he looked dreadful. His eyes, dark-rimmed, were tightly closed, and his face was ashen.

Now he remembered Ralph Mortinelli's last words to him. The malicious man had hoped he would stumble on the dead body of his partner, and die with him.

He was almost afraid to touch Bodie, but forced himself to stretch out a trembling hand to search for a pulse. The flesh he touched was so cold, but he persisted, and was eventually rewarded by finding a beat, feeble but definitely there.

He moved the light further down the inert form, and was aghast at what he came upon. There was a gaping wound in his mate's thigh. This was the source of those blood patches then, he thought as he surveyed the darkly stained trouser leg. Bodie had been shot, probably by Arturo Mortinelli, as he had been. He had come off more lightly himself, for the injury to his left hand was painful but not serious.

What could he do about his partner's injury ? An idea came to him. He switched off the lighter, and moved nearer the meagre light from the doorway. He unzipped his leather jacket, removed it and the sweater beneath it. Quickly he stripped off the white T- shirt, and resumed the other two garments before he got too cold.

Now it was the turn of his useful little knife. He pulled it out of its hiding-place and began to cut the body of the T-shirt into a long spiral bandage. When he got to the armholes, he cut it off. Then he folded the remaining bit, the sleeves and the very top section, into a compact pad.

Now he had a problem. Bodie was in the darkest corner. He couldn't hold the lighter and do the first aid as well.. He decided the only option was to drag Bodie nearer the daylight of the doorway, so that he could see what he was doing. It took considerable effort, for his mate was bigger and heavier than him, and was an awkward dead-weight.

But he managed it at last, and quickly bound his improvised dressing into place. Then he eased his mate back a little to be clear of the odd drifts of flakes, still coming just into the doorway. He sank down and rested for a while. The cold and the effort had tired him, but he felt pleased that he had managed something to aid his friend.

He lit the lighter again, and looked around to see if there was anything in this place that might be of use. All he found was a pile of old hessian sacks that Bodie had been lying on. These were big and coarse, and judging by the smell of them, had probably once contained some sort of animal feed. He brought several of them over and tucked them round the inert form, to provide a little warmth, maybe. He moved further into the darkest corner, but found nothing else of any use.

And then from behind his back, came a sound, only a slight sound, a rather feeble moan !

He swung round to stare towards his friend. Bodie's eyes were open !

He moved quickly to kneel beside him. Slipping an arm under his shoulders, he gently heaved him up a little to lean against him. Bodie's pain-filled eyes focussed towards him. A disbelieving look crept over his face.

"Doyle ?," a weak voice questioned in credulously

"Yes, Bodie, I'm here," said Doyle encouragingly.

"How did you . . . . ?," whispered his mate.

"Much the same way as you, I expect," replied Doyle. "Dumped here by the Mortinelli pair."

Bodie seemed keen to tell him something, but in his weak state he was having a job to get the words out. Doyle bent close to hear every laboured word. "Heard sheep and a dog," said Bodie. "Just over the ridge. Thought there must be a farm. Get help. Couldn't make it."

But the effort of getting these few disjointed words out proved too much for him. His eyes closed again and he slumped in Doyle's grasp.

"Bodie," Doyle cried desperately, but uselessly. The man had lapsed into unconsciousness again. Fearful, he felt again for the pulse, and was relieved to find it still beating, albeit weakly. He gently laid him down, tucking the sacks round him.

Then he thought carefully over what Bodie had been trying to tell him. It sounded as if he might have heard sheep, and a dog, perhaps rounding them up. If this meant there was a farm, how far away was it ?

He moved to the doorway and gazed out. The snow had stopped, and the air was clear and bright. He took a few steps outside and looked about. 'Over the ridge', Bodie had said. He wasn't going to risk going too far from the hut and getting lost, but the ridge was fairly close, beyond the hut, and the present visibility was good. He decided he'd risk going that far for a quick look.

It took him a few minutes to negotiate the slight hill up to the ridge. He reached the highest point and looked over, seeing more sloping snow-covered fields on the other side.

But, yes, there was a farm ! Several fields away down across the valley, he could see several barns, and a large farmhouse, with smoke rising lazily from its chimneys.

But it was quite a distance off. It would take him a long time to get there to seek help, and an even longer time for help, if he found it, to come back to the hut.

He wasn't going to leave his mate that long !

Somehow, he had to take him with him. But how ?.

He hurried back down to the hut. An idea was slowly forming in his mind. First, he re-checked his friend's pulse. Was it his imagination, or did it feel a little stronger ? Hope, almost lost before, began to spur him on.

He collected several more of the coarse heavy-duty sacks, and pulled them into the light. He whipped out his little knife again and began to use it carefully. Two of the sacks he split carefully down both sides, and opened them up. He laid one on top of the other. He now had a strong mat over 6 feet long. The third sack he left intact, and tied it to the others at the bottom and the middle of the sides to form a sort of pocket.

He went back to Bodie, and began to move him, glad that he was now unconscious again, and so wouldn't feel any pain as he struggled with his heavy weight. Finally he achieved what he had been aiming for. Bodie was lying flat on the mat, with his legs neatly tucked into the pocket formed by the uncut sack. He used a couple more of the sacks to tuck round the top of the inert form. Then he turned his attention to the last few sacks. These he opened lengthwise again, and carefully cut them into strips a few inches wide. He plaited these together to form a long strong rope. This he attached to the top corners of the mat to form a sort of harness that he could slip over his shoulders. To his satisfaction he now had a make-shift sledge, so that he could drag his partner over the snow-covered grass.

He knew he must move quickly now, before the light went, and before it started snowing again. He summoned up all his courage and strength, and slipped both arms into the loop, so that it lay across his shoulders, took a deep breath and set off.

Getting his heavy load moving was difficult, and he had to exert a lot of effort, but once he was through the doorway, and onto the soft snow, it became a little easier, as the sacks slid over the surface quite well.

He turned towards the ridge. It was not too far away, but he knew this would be the hardest bit, as it was uphill. He consoled himself with the thought that once he had made it to the top pf the rise, the fields before him sloped gently downhill, and wouldn't be quite such hard work.

He had to keep moving. The biting wind was back and in his face. He plodded on determinedly, head down. He drew himself a mental picture of Arctic explorers, driving on in all weathers, dragging their sleds. Were they heavier than Bodie's dead-weight, he wondered ?

Suddenly he tripped over a hidden lump of stone, and went flat on his face in the snow. He lay there for a moment, winded, and the idle thought came into his head that it would be nice to rest here on this nice soft bed and forget his problems. He came to himself with a start, realising he was letting the cold and the strain get to him. That wouldn't do ! If he succumbed, they would both die out here in this white wilderness.

He scrambled back to his feet, and pushed on firmly. A few more yards brought him thankfully to the top of the ridge. He gazed down across the white fields, seeking the haven of the distant farmhouse. It was still a very long way off, but he was determined to make it.

He set off down the slope. It was easier now, as he had hoped, though he was getting colder and more tired by the moment.

And then it began to snow again ! He'd so hoped that wouldn't happen.

He lifted his head and gazed down the valley towards the farmhouse while he could still see it, trying to pin-point the exact direction he must maintain to reach it.

He stopped for a moment to pull a corner of one of the sacks over Bodie's pale face. Then firmly re-settling his yoke, he pushed on down the gradual slope.

Euan Parry sat on a chair in his large farmhouse kitchen, pulling on his stout boots, His wife, Sarah, stood by the large range, which warmed the whole room, stirring a pot of soup, which was filling the air with a delicious aroma.

Euan was a farmer and a shepherd. A man of few words and almost none of them English, he cared for his flock of ewes in a dedicated manner.

A few days ago, when the wintry weather had begun to get worse, he had been out with his fine dog, Jess, and had brought his small flock of lambing ewes down to the shelter of the big barns on his homestead.

He had been busy settling them in, as the weather conditions outside had deteriorated. Three of the youngest ewes, frightened, no doubt, had dropped their lambs early. It had been hard work, helping them, and keeping them away from the main flock, but he had been lucky. The lambs, although a little premature, had all survived, and were doing well.

He'd been so busy that it was a while before he managed a complete head-count, which had revealed to him that he had two sheep missing. So now that there was a slight break in the weather, a clear spell, he was off out with Jess to see if he could find them.

He shrugged on his heavy duffel coat and pulled his woolly had down over his ears. Sarah left her cooking and came over to him.

"Do be careful, Euan," she said as she tucked his scarf firmly round his neck.

"Don't fuss, woman," said Euan gruffly, but he smiled at her. She understood his need to go to look for his lost sheep.

"I'll be all right," he said, in his soft Welsh tones, "I've got Jess."

He collected his clever dog, and set off steadily up the white-coated fields. He had a good idea where to look. Sheep were not really stupid as so many thought. They would no doubt be huddled in the shelter of a bush or next to a rocky out-crop. Jess was an excellent sheep-herder, and she would soon find them, and send them down to him, to be driven back to join the others. He worked steadily up the lower fields, sending the obedient dog searching along the drifts hiding hedges and fences.

As he moved upwards it began to snow again. He had feared this would happen to hamper them, but it was all right. Excited barking told him Jess had already found something. A few moments later, with noisy 'baas', two sheep, heavily snow-coated were coming towards him out of the swirling snow showers.

"Good girl, Jess," said Euan and turned for home. Jess would bring them on down now, into safe shelter.

Then he got a sudden shock. What was this ? Jess had deserted her task, left her charges, and run back into the swirling snow, barking excitedly.

Euan wasn't to know of course, that Jess's sensitive nose had picked up a scent of something more exciting than silly sheep, and she was going to find what it was.

Annoyed, as Jess ignored his repeated calls, Euan started after her. She was still barking furiously. Had she found a fox, maybe ?

Then, through the curtains of falling snow, he saw a dark shape, moving slowly towards him. What on earth was it ? It was big enough to be a bear, but there were no bears left in Wales, surely !

He hurried forward, and was astounded at what he found !

The dark shape was man, bent forward, head down, and covered in snow, stumbling along, dragging something behind him.

Doyle was almost out on his feet. He was keeping going by determination alone. He was mentally and physically exhausted and numbed by the cold, the driving snow, and the bitter wind.

His mind was a blank. He didn't even have the energy to think clearly.

And then he became aware of a barking dog, and quickly after that, a strong arm supporting him. It was all too much, and with a soft sigh, he collapsed into Euan's firm grasp.

The farmer was a practical man and very strong. He had played rugby for years for a local team before giving it up to take over his late father's farm. Used to hard work, he had often walked long distances carrying an injured sheep on his broad shoulders. He knew he could easily carry the man he was holding down to the farm. But he had flicked back a corner of the sack to see what the man's load was, and he knew he couldn't carry two. And it was clear that these two needed help urgently.

He was impressed by the inventiveness of the improvised sledge, and decided it would probably hold up a bit longer. And it wasn't that far back to the farm. So he laid the limp form he was holding on top of the other body, slipped the harness over his own shoulders, and moved towards home. The snow was now coming down thicker and faster. He had found his strays and these two just in time. Another night in these conditions might have been too much.

Jess had gone back to her work, and was skilfully driving the two ewes down the field towards shelter. So Euan could concentrate on his own task. He strode on steadily, ignoring the ominous sounds of tearing as the contraption protested at the extra weight.. With a bit of luck he would make it nearer home before it finally gave up. And luck was with him. He reached his own yard just as the harness loop finally parted company with the rest of it.

He bent down, brushed the accumulated snow from the top figure, swept him up effortlessly and hurried across the yard. He pushed open the heavy door, calling for his wife as he entered.

Sarah was quick to respond. How often had her big man come in from the fields bringing her a poorly lamb to tend to by the warmth of the stove ? But when she saw what he was carrying she was almost taken aback. But she recovered quickly, and took immediate practical steps to help. She swept the large rug from the nearby settle, folded it lengthwise and laid it by the big log-burning stove which added to the kitchen range kept the big room comfortably warm. As Euan laid his burden down on this, she slipped a cushion under the head of dark matted curls.

"There's another one outside," he said urgently, "in worse shape, I'm afraid."He went quickly out again.

Sarah thought fast. She crossed the room to the 'bed in the wall', a feature of many old farmhouses, a large bed set in a deep alcove. It was not in current use, for she and Euan preferred their large bedroom upstairs, but it was always ready, in case an unexpected guest needed their hospitality. She quickly turned back the covers. Her husband came in again with his second burden. Fortunately, due to his spell in the hut, and the protection of the coarse sacks, Bodie's clothes were dry, so he was able to lay him straight down on the bed. Sarah gazed with great concern at the blood-stained leg, and the makeshift dressing. I'll have to do something about that, she thought to herself.

Euan moved back towards the door. "I'll just put those ewes into the barn and feed Jess," he said, and hurried off.

Sarah was a very sensible and practical woman, and quickly set about the tasks before her. First she hurried up the stairs, and came back moments later with an armful of clothes, stuff belonging to her sons, who were both away at present, the eldest at Agricultural College in England, and the youngest in the army. She selected several items and laid them beside the supine figure by the stove. Euan could get the man's wet clothes off him when he came back in.

Next she turned her attention to the wounded man in the bed. Sarah had been a nurse before she had married the strong soft-spoken Welshman and had become a farmer's wife. She fetched her first-aid kit and laid out what she needed. She returned to the range where there was always warm water in the big kettle, and filled a bowl. Then she tackled the not very pleasant task of stripping off the temporary bandage and the ruined trousers, and dealing with the nasty injury that was revealed, with all her well-remembered skill. Having made the man as comfortable as she could she eased off his jacket. The sweatshirt beneath was all right, so she added a large pair of pyjama trousers, and covered the still figure up carefully. With a practised hand she felt for a pulse. It was reasonably strong considering all he must have been through.

Euan had come in while she was busy. She had told him what she wanted him to do, and he was just completing the task of getting some dry clothes onto the other man. She went across to help him. She took a towel and gently rubbed the wet snow-matted hair back into shape. She smiled a little. Her youngest boy had had curls like this till he joined the army, where he'd quickly lost them.

Euan pointed out to her the injury to the man's left hand and she dealt with that quickly as he told her the details of his strange encounter on the hillside.

"Where have they come from ?," Sarah wondered aloud.

"The sacks were in the little hut over beyond the ridge," replied her husband.

"That's quite a long way away," said Sarah. "No wonder he's so exhausted," she said looking thoughtfully at her patient.

"Let him sleep now, Euan. Come you to the table and I'll get you some soup. He can have some too, as soon as he wakes." They sat down together, well satisfied with what they had managed to do.

Doyle woke slowly, and for a moment couldn't remember what had been going on. Then it all came back in a rush. He sat up hurriedly, looking about him. He found himself in a large old-fashioned farm kitchen, pleasantly warm, and lit by several oil lamps. Two people were sitting at the table, and the pleasant aroma of soup came to him. The woman rose quickly and hurried over to him. Her hand helped him to his feet.

"Bodie ?," he asked anxiously.

"Your friend is all right," said Sarah re-assuringly, and pointed over towards the bed in the wall.

Doyle moved quickly that way and gazed at his partner. He looked very relaxed and comfortable, and surely he had regained some of his colour !

The woman was by his side. "Come you and sit down," she said. "There's warm soup for you and you can tell us about you and your friend."

Doyle looked down at himself and the clothes he was wearing, a sweatshirt and trousers, and some warm socks.

"My son's," explained Sarah. "Your own are drying in the next room."

She pushed Doyle gently into a seat at the table, put a bowl of soup in front of him, and added a large slice of home-baked bread. Doyle fell to with a will, and found it tasted as good as it smelled."

Sarah sat down at the table. She gestured towards her taciturn husband. "My man was out looking for sheep," she explained, "and found you on the hill. He has very little English, but he is a good man, and managed to bring you both in."

"I'm very grateful," said Doyle. "I don't think I would have got much further."

"Your friend really needs to be in hospital," went on Sarah, "But we can do nothing about that yet, for the roads are impassable now, and all power is off. We have a phone but it is 'dead' at the moment. I used to be a nurse so I have made him as comfortable as I can, and he is in no danger."

"Thank you so much," said Doyle. "I was very afraid for him."

"You called him Bodie," went on Sarah, "so what do we call you."

"Ray, Ray Doyle," he replied, and went on to tell her some of what had happened to them. He tried to keep it simple, explaining only that they were sort of policeman, and had been attacked and dumped by some villains.

"You are a long way from home," commented Sarah.

"Indeed we are," Doyle agreed. "Our home is London."

They sat talking for a while, as Sarah told him all about herself and Euan, their farm, her family, and the imminent lambing season. Then she said a quiet word in Welsh to her husband who rose quietly and left the room. He was back quite soon with a camp bed which he set up close to the warmth-giving stove.

"You'll be all right there for the night, won't you ?," she said to Doyle. "Your friend is quite comfortable for now. I will leave you one of the lamps, and if you should need us, you only have to call. We are just in the room up the stairs."

Doyle thanked her profusely once again. He took a last look at Bodie.

He settled himself on the camp-bed, pulling the warm rug round him. How lucky they had been, he thought to himself, to find such help, and such hospitable people.

He woke again to the muted sounds of Sarah at work at the stove. Feeling greatly restored, he got up and went to look at Bodie. His colour was definitely improved, and his pulse was stronger.

Sarah came over to join him. "Your friend is much better," she said, "though I shall still be glad when we can get an ambulance through. The weather is improving so it may be soon."

She ushered Doyle to the table, and placed a good breakfast before him. "Euan has already had his," she volunteered, "and he's out with the sheep in the barn. One or two of them have started, I think."

Doyle enjoyed his meal. When he'd finished Sarah came over to him bearing a pair of boots and a heavy jacket. "I thought you might like to go round to the barn and watch Euan at work," she said.

Doyle jumped at the chance. He'd never observed lambing at close quarters before, and spent a pleasant morning watching as Euan's large but gentle hands helped two young ewes who were having difficulty The sight of new-born lambs nuzzling up to their mothers was oddly moving

A short time after lunch Euan came back in bearing a faintly bleating lamb, 'the smaller of twins' Sarah translated her husband's quiet words to her. Doyle watched as she went into a well-practised routine, fishing out a small dog-basket, a piece of blanket, and a baby's feeding bottle. Soon the hungry bleating stopped and the small creature settled down by the warmth of the stove.

"She'll do," said Sarah cheerfully. "I've saved much worse than her. She will probably be able to go back to her mother tomorrow."

Later that afternoon he found that the task of feeding the lamb had been delegated to him. He was a bit nervous to begin with, but found himself amazed by the sucking strength of the small creature as he held the bottle in its mouth. He tried to take back the bottle to give it breathing-space. "Greedy creature !," he admonished it gently.

He'd almost completed the task, when he heard a dry chuckle from somewhere behind him. He swung round quickly. It was Bodie, eyes wide open, and apparently laughing at him.

"What's so funny ?," Doyle demanded.

"You being 'mother'," replied Bodie. His voice was still a little weak, but the usual grin was back. Doyle wrested the now empty bottle from the lamb and tucked it back into its comfy bed. He hurried over to his partner.

"Where are we ?," asking Bodie, as his eyes wandered round the unfamiliar room.

"At a farmhouse, in Wales," replied Doyle, "being splendidly looked after by some wonderful people, Sarah and Euan Parry. "

He was aware that Sarah had come in during his last words, but he didn't mind that she'd heard. They were wonderful people, so why shouldn't he say so ?

Later in the afternoon as he sat with them over tea and freshly baked scones, there was more good news.

Quite suddenly, the lights came on, and then a moment later, the telephone rang ! Sarah went out in the hall to answer it, and came back looking very pleased.

"It was our nearest neighbour," she reported, "checking to see that we were all right. He says the snow-ploughs are out, and he's nearly clear. I told him about our urgent need of an ambulance, and he'll pass that on. It'll have to come from Newport, but we'll now be on the priority list."

Early next morning, Doyle, now comfortably back in his own clothes, was helping Sarah in the task he had come to enjoy, feeding the hungry little lamb, who was getting noticeable stronger. Later in the day, she would be re-introduced to her mother, in the hope that she would accept her along with her twin sister. It didn't always work, Sarah had told him, but they were hopeful it would this time.

Euan came back into the kitchen and spoke a few excited words to his wife. She hurried over to Doyle.

"Great news," she said, "Euan has just spotted a snow-plough making its way up the valley road, and there's an ambulance right behind it ! They'll be here in about ten minutes, I should think."

That gave Doyle very little time to be ready, but he made sure of one thing. He got Sarah to write their name and address and phone number on a piece of paper, which he tucked securely into his wallet. He wouldn't ever forget them both and their kindness and help, and hopefully might see them again some day. He even found a moment to bestow a farewell pat on the curly head of the lamb he had been helping to save.

Euan had been busy clearing his yard, and he'd also tackled the short piece of path leading from there to the road, so once the snow-plough had passed the end of this, the ambulance was able to reverse and back down, to come to a halt almost outside the farmhouse door.

Two ambulance men armed with a stretcher and warm red blankets came into the farmhouse kitchen, and before long Bodie was wrapped up and being transported into the waiting vehicle.

Sarah handed Doyle a bag with Bodie's jacket and shoes.( the trousers had been beyond redemption, and had been disposed of ).

Doyle repeated his words of thanks, surprised Sarah with a swift kiss on her rosy cheek, and left, climbing into the back of the ambulance to join his mate. He felt very relieved, for although Sarah had done a lot for Bodie, he was now on his way to skilled hospital care.

Arriving at Newport Hospital after a cautious trip along roads still heavy with snow, Bodie was instantly whisked away to be examined and treated by the senior man on duty.

A Sister came to Doyle to ask for details for her notes. She spotted the bandage round his hand, and in spite of his protests that it was all right, insisted on sending for a nurse to look at it. But as he'd tried to tell her, the slight injury was already healing well, thanks to Sarah's ministrations. So she merely dressed it again for him.

The Sister addressed Doyle again. "As your friend's injury is a gun-shot wound," she said, "we have had to report it to the police. An inspector is on his way to speak to you now."

This news pleased Doyle. It was just what he wanted. He still had his I.D. card. A senior officer would recognise its full authority and expedite his phone call to London, which was now his immediate priority. So he meekly followed her as she showed him into her office. He thanked her for the welcome cup of coffee she made him and sat down to wait.

George Cowley was a very harassed man. He had just had another report landed on his desk about a problem that needed immediate attention. He thought aloud and almost said "I'll send Bodie and Doyle", before he remembered that that was another of his problems. His best team were missing. Doyle had gone searching for Bodie, and he too, had disappeared. Every agent had been alerted and had made enquiries of their informants, but absolutely nothing had come to light. Their cars had not been found either, so there was no clue there as to what had happened to them.

He rifled through the pile of papers on his desk, trying to decide how best to organise what resources he had available. The phone rang again. Irritated he snatched it up.

"What now ?," he barked angrily.

"Sir," came a familiar voice, slightly puzzled at his brusque reception.

"Doyle !," exclaimed Cowley.

"Yes, sir," came the response.

"Where on earth are you ?," demanded Cowley.

"In Wales, sir," came the reply, "to be precise, in Newport, South Wales."

"What are you doing there ?," exclaimed his boss.

"It's a long story, sir, which will have to wait. But I've found Bodie. He's got a nasty leg injury and is in Newport Hospital. I'm all right, but he's going to be stuck in bed for a while, I think."

"I need you back here as soon as possible," said Cowley. "I'll send a car for you. Where will you be ?."

"In the hospital with Bodie," replied Doyle. "But what about him, sir ?"

"Well," replied Cowley briskly, "By the time the car gets there you'll have an update on his condition, and how soon he can be moved, won't you." He rang off.

Isn't that just like the old man, thought Doyle to himself. No words of concern about how they were or what they'd been through. Just 'get back here, and on the job again'.

Actually he was doing Cowley an injustice. The sense of relief that had swept through Cowley was so great, that he couldn't trust himself to put it into words, without sounding emotional. He had to maintain his distance for the sake of morale. But the thought that he'd soon have Doyle's clever thinking to help him sort out some of the current problems, and that eventually he would have his best team back in action, had lightened his whole mood. He could cope again.

A few days later there was a tap on his door and Doyle entered. "Good news, sir," he said, "I've heard from Newport Hospital that Bodie's doing well. He's up on his feet again, on crutches, of course, But he is fit enough to be fetched in a couple of days time."

"Fine," said Cowley, "I'll get that arranged."

Doyle hoped he might be asked to do that, so that he could sneak a quick trip to call on the Parry's but it was doubtful as they were so busy.

On his return, he'd told the whole story to his boss. They had agreed that there was little that they could do yet about Arturo Mortinelli, for they had no idea what he had been planning, and he seemed to have gone to ground for a while. But the warehouse had been fully investigated.

"I suppose it's 'cold comfort', really," mused Cowley, "But at least we have delayed him a bit. He can't use that warehouse now."

"He'll probably be looking for another place somewhere," said Doyle, "but we'll be keeping a look-out for any signs of that."

"I wonder what he was doing going to Wales ?," he pondered. "Bodie said he heard then mention Cardiff."

"I've got the Cardiff police, looking into that," said Cowley.

"Bodie suggested we name the case 'Wonder why Wales ?'," said Doyle.

Cowley's look told him that he didn't find that very amusing, but secretly he admitted to himself that he had missed Bodie's quirky sense of humour. However he would soon be back, and things would settle down again.

"I expect we'll find out in due course," he said, "In the meantime let's get on with our current problems."


End file.
